


Exit, Pursued by a Bear

by carorose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark, Dark Hermione, EWE, F/M, Hogwarts, Post-War, Time Travel, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 06:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14688597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carorose/pseuds/carorose
Summary: Hermione answers a call from beyond the Veil and finds herself stranded in 1944. Dark yet tropey Time-Travel! fic





	1. Through the Veil

_“A sad tale's best for winter: I have one of sprites and goblins.” – The Winter’s Tale, Act 2 Scene 1_

The lift ride down to the Department of Mysteries was cold and interminable. Hermione sucked in an icy breath and shivered as she wrapped herself tightly in her cloak. The Unspeakable uniform she had stolen was blessedly warm, though not quite warm enough for the basement of the Ministry of Magic.

 _I hadn’t remembered the Department as an ice chest_ , she mused to herself, thinking of the disastrous battle with the Death Eaters that she and Dumbledore’s Army had fought here her fifth year. Then again, she’d been a different person at the time. More hot-blooded, more full of life. The brightest witch of her age, protected by a blanket of warm Gryffindor bravery. 

She snorted. How foolish her sixteen year old self had been. 

She mused over her plan for what seemed like the thousandth time as the lift slowly creaked towards her final destination. So far, everything had gone to plan. Her polyjuice brew had been particularly strong - she’d seamlessly shifted into the greasy, pot-bellied Unspeakable that she’d been stalking for weeks. Additionally, he’d been easier to disarm and bind then she would have ever thought. One Expelliarmus and a Petrificus Totalus had been all she’d needed to dispose of him for the few short hours she’d needed, but she’d been slightly disappointed at the ease. Her restlessness had been half-hoping he’d put up a little fight so she could unleash some her anxieties. 

The further she descended, the stronger the pull towards the Veil was. She could feel it in the pit of her stomach, twisting and writhing like some desperate animal. She made herself take a deep breath and relax her fists, ignoring the feeling.

 _I’m coming, Harry._ She closed her eyes. _Don’t worry - I’ll be there soon._

Her eyes snapped open as the elevator gave a ding before it’s cue. It had stopped on Level Seven, not Level Nine as she’d intended. Before she could wonder if she’d made some foolish mistake, if someone had caught on to her, a smiling woman in deep blue robes entered into the lift with her. 

The woman’s eyes filled with warmth as she looked on Hermione’s polyjuiced form. “Oh, Croaker! I’ve been meaning to have a chat with you!” 

Hermione’s throat felt dry and tight, but she forced herself to speak. “What is it?”

She was still beaming. The lift descended at a turtle-like pace. “Shacklebolt wanted me to ask you about You-Know-What.” She stepped a little closer, eyes darker. “If you’ve made any progress with our...little problem.”

Hermione stared blankly, her mind racing. “Nothing much to report. If Shacklebolt would like to speak about it, he knows where to find me.” As if on cue, the elevator dinged. Floor Nine. Hermione had to stop herself from breathing out a sigh of relief. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the witch drawing her wand and casually pressing the tip against a leather strap around her small, delicate wrist.

 _Shit._ Hermione sucked in a breath and strode away without saying goodbye. She could already feel the change - the air seemed to become ten degrees cooler, and the torches that lit the stone hallways began to flicker and dim as if a strong breeze was blowing. Behind her, she heard no footsteps. Perhaps the witch wasn’t moving. Or perhaps she’d gone to call for backup. 

How did they know? She couldn’t be sure. Polyjuice alarms, secret codes. After Voldemort’s defeat, the Ministry had become much more regulated. Had she somehow tipped them off? 

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe the witch hadn’t been signalling anyone. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d been too paranoid - spending her years in mortal peril had seemed to have that effect on her. 

Her footfalls bounced off the stone walls as she hurried her way towards the Veil. She knew the way by heart, having viewed her own memories of her time in the Department of Mysteries with a Pensieve and written it all down on a map of sorts. Two rights and a left, then straight to the end of the corridor. 

Around her, there was nothing but the sound of her footsteps and a light, metallic ticking. 

She reached the entrance to the Death Chamber and carefully opened the door. Inside, it was warmer and even more quiet. The Veil stood in the center of the middle of the room. Hermione descended the steps down into the pit, the gnawing feeling in her chest growing more urgent as she drew closer. 

Up close, the Veil looked regal. It’s stones gleamed as if they were wet, and the silken cloth draped over it looked soft to the touch. Her pull towards it was almost painful now, as if her lungs and stomach were set on fire. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, putting a hand on the stone. 

_Hermione!_

For a flash of a second, she felt swept back into a memory of six months ago. Harry was there, lying in his hospital bed in St. Mungo’s. The green of his eyes stood out against the dark circles that ringed them. Hermione clasped his thin, cold hand. Whatever curse Voldemort had unwittingly linked them with had made Harry’s body run seven degrees colder than normal. 

“If I die today, tell Ron he’s a git for not coming to cry over my body,” he joked. Despite the lightness of his voice, Hermione could tell that there was some truth among the humor.

“He’s a git for a lot of things,” Hermione said, holding his hand tighter. “But this has been hard for him, Harry. He lost so many people in the battle, and now he has to lose his best friend too.” She moved to sit down next to him on the bed, careful not to jostle his body. “You know Ronald has always had the emotional capability of a Blast Ended Skrewt.”

This got a laugh out of Harry, but she felt slightly guilty. She and Ron had only just broken up, and were now drifting further and further apart the she would have ever thought. But she hadn’t been able to stand the hollow-eyed look he got anytime someone brought up his family, and he hadn’t been able to put up with the night terrors that had haunted her ever since the final battle. It had made sense for two broken people to cobble themselves back together apart from each other. Together, they just reminded each other of what had been. 

Harry’s laugh ended in a rattling cough. He sighed, looking up at Hermione with dark eyes. “Still…” he murmured. “I’ve just been getting this feeling lately, it’s been weird. Like this is the bad universe, and somewhere else there’s a good one. And all three of us are there, having the time of our lives.” He coughed. “And none of this bullshit ever happened. No one had to die.”

She smiled and held back the tears that were threatening to spill. Harry didn’t need to see her cry, not now. “That sounds like a dream.”

He closed his eyes, smiling. “It’s a nice dream, though. I like it.”

“I like it too, Harry.”

A loud bang brought her back to the present, and she turned to see the witch from earlier, now flanked by Aurors. The smile from earlier was replaced with a tight, cold look of concentration. 

“Hermione.” Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out from behind the crowd, wand in hand. “Please. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She swallowed, looking down to see that the polyjuice had started to fade. How did they know what she was planning to do? Who could have told them? She wasn’t about to stick around to ask.

The fabric of the Veil fluttered playfully as if it were caught in a breeze. Beyond it, Hermione swore she caught a glimpse of tousled black hair, a flash of a glasses lens and one brilliantly green eye. Her insides were on fire. She reached a trembling hand out to the silken drape of the Veil, slowly parting it. Within, there was nothing but a velvety blackness.

“Hermione!” Shacklebolt shouted. His voice sounded far away, as if heard underwater. Someone fired a Stunner, and it hit the wall of the Veil over Hermione’s shoulder. It sparked bright red against the stone, and Hermione took it as her cue to leave.

Parting the Veil further, she slipped between the silk and the stone archway, warmth enveloping her as she did so. She looked down at her hands, now polyjuice free. The feeling in her chest turned from fire to ice. 

She didn’t bother to turn around for one last look - there was nothing left for her out there. Shacklebolt’s voice rang in her ears, but she already felt far away, warm and floating and protected. A drowsiness washed over her. Unable to fight it, she closed her eyes.

When she awoke, she was somewhere different. Somewhere bright and unbearably white. She blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting to her surroundings as they slowly took shape. She stood up and looked around her. 

It was the Hogwarts library. Or rather, an approximation of the Hogwarts library - a version sparkling white and faintly luminescent. The most glaringly obvious difference to Hermione, however, was the lack of books on the shelves. Rows and rows of shelves stood empty, looking naked and alien in the bright light. 

Something rustled behind her, but she was too afraid to turn. She kept her eyes on the empty shelves as a voice called out behind her, its tone warm yet confused. 

“Hermione, is that you?”


	2. The King's Cross of the Universe

_"This is the chase. I am gone forever!" - The Winter's Tale, Act 3 Scene 3_

“Hermione, is that you?”

Hermione started, spinning around with her wand out. Harry Potter was nowhere to be seen and the man in front of her was not who she had expected to greet her. 

Albus Dumbledore was settled into a cushy white armchair, hand digging around in a pile of unopened chocolate frogs. He was dressed just as she remembered him from her childhood - moon and star robes glittering in the white light, tall hat slightly askew on his mane of silver hair. His eyes twinkled up at her from behind his half-moon spectacles.

She suddenly felt eleven years old again, stupid and trusting. Even now, after knowing all that Dumbledore had concealed from her and Harry, after all the duplicity, she still felt mollified by his mere presence. _Stupid girl,_ she told herself. _You know better now. He’s a shifty old wizard who’s responsible for a lot more than he'd like to pretend to be._

She closed her eyes and steadied herself against a shelf, taking a deep breath. “Hello, Headmaster. I wasn't..I didn’t expect to find you here.”

“I myself was quite surprised when I found myself here in this armchair, waiting for you.” He swept his arm over the chair next to him, inviting her to sit. “One moment you’re quietly enjoying your death and a steaming cup of rooibos tea, the next the mysteries of the universe are calling you to participate in their tomfoolery.” He chuckled to himself, unwrapping a chocolate frog and examining it over his spectacles. 

“I don’t understand, sir,” Hermione said. She felt the most awake she’d felt since the Battle at Hogwarts. “I thought - I thought perhaps Harry was waiting for me here?”

Dumbledore would not meet her gaze. He kept his eyes trained steadily on the frog, now letting it squirm and hop between his long fingers. “Perhaps you thought Harry would be waiting because you wanted him to be waiting for you?”

Suddenly the twinkle in his eyes wasn’t so pacifying anymore. He thought he knew everything, didn’t he? The familiar feeling of rage seeped into her belly, and she stood up from the armchair. “Listen, sir. I appreciate all you did for Harry when you were alive, but I don’t have the time or patience for any more puzzles.” Her fists clenched. “You of all people should realize that it causes more harm than good, sir.”

He looked up at her, his eyes no longer twinkling. They were flat and cold as ice. “Hermione,” he said, his voice growing weary. “I’m not a god. Just as all wizards - as all humans - I am quite partial to making mistakes.” He let the chocolate frog escape from his grasp for just a second before scooping it between his palms. “I promise you, whatever blunders I made on the long journey that we call life, they were not done in malice.”

Hermione met his gaze. “Sometimes I have a hard time believing that, sir.”

He nodded but seemed sadder now, a little smaller. He held up the chocolate frog, dangling it by a single leg before letting it drop to the floor and disappear into the shelves.

Hermione felt betrayed. She had been willing to risk her entire life - even her possible salvation - all on the pull of the Veil, all on the assurance that it was _Harry_ who was calling out to her and waiting to meet her on the other side. She suddenly felt lonelier than ever before. Perhaps Harry wasn’t even out there at all, and now she was stuck here with a duplicitous old coot who had proven one too many times to not be as trustworthy as he seemed.

She forced herself to sit down. Whatever trick this was, she was sure she could find her way out of it - she was still the brightest witch of her age, broken or not. 

“Why am I here?” she asked him, crossing and uncrossing her legs. 

His twinkle was back. “My dear, I have absolutely no idea. However, something appeared in the pocket of my robes when I was called here, so I suppose it must be for you.” He fished around in his robes for a long minute, pulling out bits of paper and handkerchiefs and one slightly rumpled yet very alive parakeet before finally drawing out two books. “Ah! Here we are!” 

He pushed them into her hands, and she looked down at them with curiosity. The first book was heavy and old, a puff of dust rising as it was placed in her hands. The cover was a glossy black, a faded title pressed into the leather. _Secrets of the Darkest Art._ A cool shudder ran down her spine as she read the title. This had been the book Voldemort had read, all those years ago. The same book she had taken with her on their horcrux hunting journey. She felt slightly sick holding it again, the memories of that horrible time flooding back to her.

“Sir…” she began, “Why are you giving this to me?”

He smiled jovially. “While I have many speculations, Ms. Granger, they are probably all wrong.” He began fiddling with the chocolate frog card on his lap, turning it over and over between his fingers. 

Hermione gave a huff of exasperation before moving on to the next book. This one was small and a pale ivory and seemed to be glowing slightly. It felt hot to the touch, like it’d been stowed away in a warm oven. Her fingers slid slowly over the embossed title. 

“ _The Art of Time_?” she said, looking up at Dumbledore. 

“An art indeed,” he said pleasantly. “Perhaps whatever higher power brought us here thought you’d need it.”

“For what?”

Dumbledore absently gestured beyond the chairs, towards the Restricted Section. Except it wasn’t truly the Restricted Section anymore. The space between the stacks had grown dark without her noticing, the blustering fabric of the Veil now hanging between them. 

“While I can't be sure, I'd be delighted to share my ideas," Dumbledore said, his eyes still on the card. "It is my theory that the Veil is not the bridge between the living and the dead, as many have thought. Rather, it seems to be a neutral zone in time and space. A place where the bridge between the living and the dead can exist, of course, but also a place where time and space itself converges.” He smiled at her indulgently. “Which explains why we can both be here at once!”

Her eyes narrowed. “So the Veil is a portal? Like a wormhole?”

“More like the King’s Cross of the universe I would say, but who am I to presume I know the secrets of the universe.” He began humming, his hands steepling over the top of the chocolate frog card. 

“Sir…” Hermione hesitated, fidgeting in her chair. “You know, the war is over. Everything is fine.” 

_Even if it isn't fine for Ron and Harry and so many others. Even if it isn't for me..._

“Yes, indeed the war is over and everything is quite fine.” He continued humming, gazing off into the Restricted Section. 

“So then why am I here?” 

“Destiny, I believe. That temptress has called you, Ms. Granger. Presumably to travel to another place and time.” 

She stood up, hesitantly taking a few steps towards the Restricted Section. Just like with the Veil, she felt a pull from it. The familiar sensation burned at her insides and gave her an indescribable longing for something that she could not quite articulate. 

Hermione Granger was primarily a creature of logic. But as she looked into the veil, she felt a sort of intuition in her heart, an inkling of things to come. One thing was for certain to her: something was beyond the portal. If it wasn’t Harry Potter, then what was it?

The swish of fabric alerted her to Dumbledore’s movement. He drew up by her side, the dark reflection of the Restricted Section playing across his glasses. He turned to her, pressing the chocolate frog card face down into her hand.

“If you happen to find yourself in a time and place in which I’m alive,” he said absently, still staring off into the distance, “do make sure to alert the other me, Ms. Granger. I have a code with myself, a contingency just in case I ever happened to create some means by which to time travel.” He chuckled. “If you tell the other Dumbledore that a handsome Dementor has eaten all of your Sugar Quills, he should be very receptive to lend a helping hand.”

_A handsome Dementor ate all my Sugar Quills?_ She shook her head, lips quirking up ever so slightly. “Thanks, sir.”

Dumbledore smiled down at her before retreating back to the armchairs, humming to himself. Knitting appeared out of midair, and he began to work on what seemed to be a pair of wool socks. 

Hermione regarded the Restricted Section, a dull sense of anxiety pulsing through her veins. On paper, there was no reason for her to go through. To meddle with time was to meddle with the universe itself, almost always for the worse. Heaven knew things weren’t good in her life, but at least the war was over and those who had survived it were safe. It would be selfish to leave this life, destiny be damned. 

_But still..._ She thought of Harry in his hospital bed, telling her about another time, another place in which she and he and Ron were all happy and together. Hermione found herself longing for something that could never again exist. She wondered if perhaps Harry’s dream did live on somewhere after all, just beyond the Veil and the Restricted Section and whatever else lay ahead of her. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat behind her. “Ms. Granger?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Do be careful. You’ve always been one of my brightest students, but do remember that this does not make any witch or wizard immune. Whatever path you pick...consider it wisely.”

Gently, she pulled the veil back. “I always do, sir.”

She looked down at the chocolate frog card he had given her. It was a nothing special, the regular blue card embossed with gold lettering detailing the accomplishments and facts of the chosen wizard on the other side. She turned the card over, determination filling her as she saw who was there. 

With a deep breath she stepped into the Restricted Section, the miniature Harry Potter on the chocolate frog card smiling up at her as she passed once more into the darkness.


End file.
